


My Princess, My Pirate

by slow-smiles (the_irish_mayhem)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Duckling, Captain Hook | Killian Jones In Love, Clothed Sex, Dirty Talk, Enchanted Forest AU, F/M, Hook Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Princess Emma Swan, Smut, this is me taking pot shots at abusive captain duckling tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 13:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8669515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_irish_mayhem/pseuds/slow-smiles
Summary: Princess Emma sneaks her pirate into her room before a ball. Smut ensues.





	

“Killian,” she pants, breathless and heated, “we don’t have time.”

He laughs into her neck, running his tongue sloppily from her clavicle to her jaw. His breath warms her ear as he whispers, “Darling, you underestimate me.”

Her pirate holds her steadfastly against the wall, his hook and hand on her ass, her ballgown rucked up to her waist, and one of her legs wrapped around his hips. He grinds up into her, the butter-soft leather doing little to hide his arousal, and the hard line of his cock slides through her bare folds.

“My father--” she chokes as a particular pass hits her clit _just so_. “He’ll be here any minute.” Her protests are rather weak and she makes no move to push him away. She clutches at his clothed shoulders, the worn leather of his long coat smooth against her palms.

“To parade you in front of the masses of suitors that have been gathered for you,” he says, that melancholy note in his voice that makes her heart clench. “Yes, I’m aware.”

“Hey,” she stops their furious pace of pawing and grinding. “You’re the only one I want.” She places her hands on his chest and gently pushes, and he immediately lets her drop to the floor. She misses the contact between them instantly, but it won’t be for long. She draws her bottom lip between her teeth as she drags her eyes from his, studying his form.

Every inch the pirate, he has his full regalia on probably because he knows she likes it. He’s wearing her favorite red vest with his shirt unbuttoned obscenely low. His necklaces lie amongst his thick chest hair revealed by the deep neckline. His hook that drew her attention quicker than his blue eyes and charming smile when they first met is running up her side and she wishes she could feel the cold steel on her overheated skin. Everything from his hair, mussed from her hands, to the tips of his toes screams _danger_.

Except she knows better. He’s certainly dangerous, but never to her.

He proved that the night she met him (has kept proving it, over and over and over), that night that she’d become suffocated by palace life yet again and decided instead of sneaking out to one of her regular haunts, she’d discover what it was like inside one of those pirate taverns near the docks.

Wearing pants and with her blonde hair combed back into a wild braid, she looked as much of a princess as one of her handmaidens. She’d always been rather bold, but this was a new level of wild, even for her, so after a few shots of whiskey to steady her racing heart, she’d focused on a raucous group of men playing what looked to be some form of poker and she’d joined in.

She was careful to not go too crazy--she was in a large group of men, after all, many of whom were eying her with openly lustful speculation, but it was easy to pretend to be more drunk than she was, easy to let the comfortable buzz carry her through the night.

It was only when last call came upon them, and the men began to disperse with whoever was to share their bed for the next few hours, that Emma began to grow uneasy. Much to her disappointment, two of the men who she’d been playing with had followed her out of the bar.

Her heart had been in her throat despite her confidence in her fighting skills. She’d practiced for hours on end since she wasn’t even twelve years old, but that was always with the guards, with her mother or father, with people she knew would never hurt her.

She half-hoped that if she walked fast enough, she could lose them and they’d give up, but they didn’t give her a chance to get very far. The only door to the bar is tucked away in a back alley, away from prying eyes of local constabulary, and, Emma realizes, anyone who might be willing to help her.

A hand at her elbow, and a drunken voice behind her slurring, “C’mon, baby, don’t go so fast--” caused her to turn quickly (head spinning just a little, because she wasn’t entirely sober) and throw a punch into the face of the man who grabbed her.

He stumbled backwards violently, a result of his drunken state and her unexpected strength.

“She’s a fighter, Boris!” cried the other, ignorant of his friend who seemed to be possibly injured from her strike. “We like them when they struggle,” he hissed before he made an ungainly lunge for her. She easily dodged him, letting him stumble into the cobblestones under their feet.

The one she’d punched earlier, Boris, appeared to have recovered, and he said something to her. It was something threatening, she was sure, but her blood was roaring in her ears so loudly the only things she caught were “slut” and “gonna make you.”

She wasn’t going to let him stay awake long enough to make good on his threat. Emma sent another punch his way, this time straight into the base of his ribs, and when he doubled over in pain, she grabbed the scruff of his neck, and brought him down as she jabbed her knee up into his face.

She screeched when she felt arms close around her from behind. Her other assailant was apparently not down for the count yet. She planted her feet on the ground and pushed her body back into him, taking advantage of his drunk imbalance, and sent them careening backwards.

They landed heavily and she heard his head snap back against the cobblestones. His arms loosened from around her and she rolled to her feet, panting hard.

She had heard another sound behind her, and with her adrenaline rushing and solid fear in her gut, she’d whirled, fists raised and ready to beat down any other drunk bastards who thought they could take advantage of her.

Emma saw that their hands were raised in supplication, but her eyes were drawn to their left hand--well, not a hand, but a hook. Solid, shining steel by the looks of it, it caught the dim light coming from the tavern entrance. “Whoa, easy there, lass,” came a masculine voice. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She didn’t responded, nor did she drop her defensive stance.

The stranger stepped closer, making it easier to discern his features in the low light. He was handsome--strikingly so--with an easy smirk and a piercing gaze. His attire and his manner made his profession easy to guess. This man was certainly a pirate.

He’d dropped his hand and hook when it became obvious she wasn’t going to rush him. “I saw those men follow you out. I only wanted to make sure you were okay.”

That made a laugh bubble out of her throat, a little delirious as the adrenaline ebbed away and was replaced by a feeling of deep discomfort. “A pirate who claims to be a gentleman,” she commented. “Interesting.”

“No false claims here. I’m always a gentleman.” His head tilted to the side, and in hindsight (and now that she’s seen him do it countless times) it was a rather endearing movement. “They didn’t hurt you at all, did they?”

His sincerity prompts a response. "No.”

One of Emma’s stalkers moaned. She’d guessed the reason she was able to keep them down so efficiently was because of their over-indulgence in alcohol, and she was proven right as they didn’t seem completely knocked out.

He saw her uneasy look. “Much as I love a woman who can take care of herself, would you care for an escort home?”

“I don’t need your help.”

She got a big smile out of him on that one. “Of that I’m sure. But some company, and a little backup, can’t hurt.”

To this day, she’s not sure what drove her to say yes. Part of her thinks it was fascination, maybe. The pirate claiming to be a gentleman, the pirate with the hook for a hand (and she had indeed heard all the sordid tales of Captain Hook), the pirate whose concern seemed completely genuine. Emma was no stranger to those who lied in the Royal Court, so she was an expert at spotting untruths when she heard them. He hadn’t told her a lie in that alley.

Of course, Killian likes to tease her and say she said yes because she was a woman who knew she couldn’t let a devilishly handsome face such as his own out of her grasp.

She hadn’t taken him back to the castle, and she didn’t lead him home straight away. They’d spoken and walked aimlessly through the city streets until the sun was nearly up. Emma still counts it as one of the best nights of her life.

“I must admit, Emma,” he’d said when they were set to part, “I’m loathe to let such an enchanting woman out of my sight.”

She remembers blushing and hoping he wouldn’t be able to see in the pre-dawn light. “I have my responsibilities, just as you have yours.”

His hand reached out towards her, hesitantly, and her heart had leapt into her throat. He hadn’t touched her all evening, something she was deeply grateful for after her close encounter with the two men outside the tavern, but at that moment she found herself eager for just one touch, just his hand in hers, no matter how brief.

But he let his hand drop back down to his side a moment later.

“I would very much like to see you again,” he said to her, shy but with such longing in his voice it touched a part of her she had thought she’d long since buried.

Emma stood at a crossroads that night. If she had said no, she knows with absolute certainty he would’ve respected her wishes.

She’s really quite glad she didn’t say no.

She’d stepped into his space, one hand coming up to cup his cheek, and the other running down his arm and grasping his hook.

“I’d like that very much, too.”

The kiss following is one of her favorites.

Now, she takes his hook in hand much the same as she did that first night they met and pushes him back towards her bed, opposite the door and the wall he’d just been ravishing her against. She internally muses that the four posters would make excellent places for her to tie him up. _Later_.

His eyes are a little stormy, and not just from the lust making his pupils go wide. He’s been quietly dreading each and every ball she attends, afraid that one of the princes or lords she meets will outshine him, will sweep her off her feet and steal her heart even though it’s already been given to him.

Emma pushes at his hook and his chest until he sits down on the bed. She grabs his necklace and pulls him as she leans down to kiss him. “You’re the only one I want in my bed,” she murmurs against his lips. “The only one I want to touch me,” she continues. He moans at that, his hand moving to her clothed chest.

This corset presses her breasts upwards in the way she knows he likes--it was the reason she’d chosen it for this evening. His fingertips touch bare skin, groping at the exposed tops of her breasts. It’s _good_ , so good, but it’s not enough. She wants his fingers on her nipples, his beard brushing across the tender underside. She wants to be naked and taking every second she wants to have with him.

She pulls away from the kiss, and a final, firm push to his chest sends his torso back against the bed as she straddles him. “The only one I want inside me.”

He groans, his hand burying itself in her hair to pull her down to his lips with a harsh  _Emma_.

She lets herself have a few moments of kissing, a few moments of Killian thrusting up into her with a teasing barrier between them. But she hadn’t been lying when she told him she didn’t have much time.

Her hands dive between them, fingers going to the laces of his pants and undoing them with a swiftness that would be embarrassing if she wasn’t so inflamed with want. As soon as they’re loose, he helps her push them down enough to free his cock.

Her hand is on him and stroking in the next breath. He gasps out, “I thought you said we didn’t have enough time.”

She grins down at him as his hook settles at her waist. “The princess is enjoying herself. They can wait.”

Emma lowers her hips so that her weeping cunt is a hairsbreadth away from the skin of his cock. She uses her hand to press him up the rest of the way as she begins her leisurely slide back and forth. The sound he lets out is ungodly, and sends a jolt of pleasure straight to Emma’s center. She strokes the other side of him with her hand in time with the rocking of her hips, her wetness making it easy.

“Gods, so wet for me, love,” he says.

She loves his voice when they do this, when she has him wrecked beyond measure and his accent slides up her spine and the grittiness makes her yearn for him to start talking and never stop.

When she moves to take him inside her, he says, "Wait.” He sounds a bit wrecked, but there’s a clarity in his eyes. “Are you--the fairies’ potion--can we--”

She nearly laughs. A stammering Killian Jones is a beautiful Killian Jones, and the fact that he’s thoughtful enough to ask about the fairy-brewed birth control potion makes her heart flutter (of all the things that could make her heart flutter, _honestly_ ) but she is so gone for this man. She leans down and whispers in his ear, “ _Yes_. I want you to come inside me.”

So she rises just enough, uses her hand to position him, and sinks down on him with a satisfied sigh. She loves the feeling of her body stretching around him, the tightness within her opening up just enough to let him in. “Do you know what else?” she asks as she starts to rock, an easy rhythm like the gentle waves beneath his ship.

He’s not so far gone that he can’t answer, “Tell me.” His feet are braced on the ground, so he begins to thrust into her from below; he doesn’t try to control the pace, just lets her take what she needs from him and the warmth in her chest rises into her throat.

She reaches for his hand, placing it on her chest. “You’re the only one who holds my heart.”

His expression softens, his lust not disappearing but changing before her eyes. She keeps rocking in his lap as he sits up to kiss her. It’s deep and wet and messy, but she loves it, loves _him_ more than she can say--

“Just as you hold mine, my princess.”

That causes another rush of arousal to spark in her nipples and run down to her clit. Her walls flutter around him, and she tilts her head back as a breathy moan slips from her throat. “We need--” she gropes for his hook with her other hand, clutching it with white knuckles and bringing it up to her mouth. “We need to go faster,” she says, and darts her tongue out to lick the metal. She knows exactly how much it drives him crazy when she does it, and his growl proves her correct yet again.

His hand leaves her chest and is planted firmly behind him so he can thrust up into her, harder this time. The rhythm he sets is firm and fast, and causes ripples of pleasure to radiate from where they meet. There’s sweat beading in the hollow of his throat and she can feel her own dripping between her breasts.

Killian dips his head and traces the path of one of the droplets with his tongue, reaching as far into her dress as he can reach and tracing back up his path. Not for the first time that evening, Emma wishes violently she didn’t have to go to this ball. She wishes that she could ask Killian to use his hook to tear the laces from her corset so that she could breath properly again, wishes to feel his hands and hook and tongue everywhere she wants to feel them.

But her duty comes first. Much to their consistent chagrin.

“Come on, Emma,” he urges. “Show me I’m yours.”

His words cause her to bear down harder, meeting him thrust for thrust as the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the room. It’s downright obscene, and she loves it.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises. “Beautiful, wonderful girl.”

“My pirate,” she says back breathlessly, smiling.

He smiles back. “To the end of the world or time, I’ll always be your pirate.”

“Dramatic,” she huffs.

“You love me for it,” he replies.

A sharp thrust in a particularly sensitive place cuts off her reply, “Gods, just like that, Killian. Again.”

Soon, she’s careening along the edge of her climax, just waiting to be pushed over.

Emma pushes her hand, still holding his hook, down towards the bottom of her skirt. It takes some doing to get the layers of fabric up and out of the way, but before too long has passed, she finally has his hook against her bare skin. It rests at the crease of her thigh and hip, just away from where she wants it.

“So close,” she pants, “touch--touch me, please.”

“As you wish.”

The hook slides across her skin, over the swollen, soaked folds, just teasing. She’s so wet she can barely feel the friction, but soon he’s using the curving end to part the lips of her cunt and pressing down so that when he runs over her sensitive nub, she jolts and loses her rhythm. He laughs, but then steadies his touch so that with each move of her hips he runs his hook across her clit.

It’s so much, so good, the push and pull of her flesh around him, the slick drag against her clit and she’s so close, careening towards that inevitable finish when--

“Emma?” she hears her father calling from outside her door. “May I come in?”

“Bloody buggering _fuck_ ,” Emma curses, and Killian slaps his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

She turns her torso just enough to call back, “Just a second!” Gods damn it, she sounded way too breathless and _gods_ , she’d just been about to come.

“Are you okay?” the king asks.

“Fine, um, just fixing my corset for a moment?” It comes out as a question, much to her disappointment. So much for not being suspicious.

She feels Killian shaking in silent laughter, and she turns back to him for a moment, whispering harshly, “If he catches you, there’s a chance you get executed, so be _quiet_.”

She’s hyperaware of his cock still hard inside of her, his hook still resting on her clit, but she needs to get rid of her father. She’s going to have to face what will already be a trying ball; gods forbid she has to do it while also dealing with a deflated orgasm.

“Shall I send for your ladies’ maids?”

“No!” she shouts back, and she winces. “I mean, no, it’s okay. I’ve got it.”

“Do you need my help at all?”

She hears the old door knob starting to turn.

“Oh my gods, get under the bed, _right now_ ,” she hisses and pulls herself off of Killian’s lap (his cock slips out of her and she swears she will do whatever she has to to get rid of her father for just five more minutes.)

He hits the floor and rolls under her bed just as the door opens and Prince Charming himself is there in her doorway. She turns and fluffs her skirt out to hopefully hide any part of Killian that might not have gotten under the bed.

Her core is still throbbing, her own wetness is coating her thighs, her heart is racing in her chest, and she realizes she has no idea what she looks. She probably has sex hair and there is possibly or probably beard burn all over her neck and chest. Her room likely smells of sweat and sex; she knows her sheets certainly do.

“Dad, I told you, I’m fine,” she says, trying to nonchalantly shift her hair so that it may cover up whatever marks Killian might have left on her skin. She thanks her lucky stars wearing long hair down has become all the rage in recent years. She can’t imagine how bad it would look had Killian fucked her with an up-do. He loves running his hands through her hair far too much to hold back.

“I know that’s what you said, but I’m struggling a bit to believe you,” he says gently. He closes the door behind him and walks over to where she stands. Emma is acutely aware that her father is literally five feet away from the man who’d been buried inside her up until twenty seconds ago as he places his hands on her shoulders, and bends slightly so that she has no option but to look him in the eye. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Emma’s smile is genuine. Her father has always understood her in a way her mother never could; she loves them both to the depths of the Bottomless Sea and back, but the bond she shares with her father is unique. There’s almost nothing that she can’t tell him.

But quite frankly, she’ll draw the line at her sex life and not feel too bad about the lie.

“I’m just...” she sighs. “I wanted a bit more time to myself. Before I get passed around from suitor to suitor like a goblet of wine they all wish to partake in.”

That is not entirely a lie. Simply the bit where she wanted time to _herself_.

David rubs his hands soothingly against her upper arms. “We accepted these suitors from their kingdoms because it was polite. There’s nothing that says you’re required to give them the time of day.”

“Nothing that says that, but everyone is expecting it.” She gives him a pointed look. “Including you and Mom.”

He holds his hands up in supplication. “We just want you to be happy, and love is a part of all happiness--”

“And I have to be open to it, I know,” she finishes. She’s heard the speech before and she’s sure she’ll hear it again. “Just... can I just have a few more minutes? I’ll come find you when I’m ready.”

David sighs again. “Of course. Just please try to not keep our guests waiting too long, if you can.”

She smiles. “Of course.”

Every step her father takes towards the door feels like an eternity, her heart climbing further into her throat with every inch closer to the door he gets. Just as he’s about to close it behind him, he pokes his head back. “Love you, bean.”

Her childhood nickname makes her smile. “Love you, too.”

And with that, he’s gone.

“Bean?” comes Killian’s muffled voice from under the bed.

She huffs a laugh, stepping away from her bed and looking down at Killian’s head poking out from beneath the lacy bed skirt. “I was a small child,” she explains as he drags himself out from underneath the bed. “So small you could have reasonably compared me to the size of a string bean,” she says as he straightens up to his full height. “Care to finish what we started, Captain?”

He bites his lip, a move that draws her eyes down to his lips. He cocks a brow and smirks. “If the princess commands it.”

Emma smirks right back. “She does.” She gently pushes his chest so that he takes the hint to resume his position sitting on the bed. He follows her silent command, and leans back on his hand and hook, exposing his still bare cock in an obscene way. He’s still mostly hard, but she figures she’ll give him a little bit of extra reassurance that it’s only him she wants to get him back at full mast.

She nearly laughs out loud at her own sailing pun, but instead decides to drop quickly to her knees and take him in her mouth before he can protest. He’s still slick with her arousal, and the taste of them together combined with the slight stretch of her lips around his considerable girth makes for a heady combination and she moans around him.

“Oh, Emma.”

Killian’s hand plunges into her hair, gripping the strands in a way that tells her he loves this more than he’s ever willing to admit. He doesn’t force himself down her throat (he doesn’t do that unless he has permission) but his hips do gently rock in small, controlled movements with each bob of her head.

Even though it can hurt her knees and make her jaw ache, Emma loves doing this for him. He’s always been such a giving lover, ever since the first time they shared this intimacy, and was always insistent that his pleasure came second. The first time she’d tried to take him in her mouth to pleasure him this way, he’d protested so vehemently she’d wondered if something had happened to him aboard one of the many ships he sailed on that made him so averse to it.

Emma had imagined it might have to do with his issues of self-worth, something about not being deserving of the pleasure she wished to give him. He’d eventually told her, blushing and stammering, that he didn’t wish to degrade her. _I’ve never been comfortable asking my bed partners to do such a thing. In my head, it’s... I’m always afraid they don’t_ truly _want to do it. I didn’t wish to force anyone._

That confession had made her want to suck him off even more. This beautiful, gentle man of hers who can turn on the danger exactly when she wants it deserves all the pleasure she can wring from him.

When she involves her hand, stroking whatever she can’t fit into her mouth, Killian pulls at her hair, just firm enough to let her know he wants something. “Emma,” he gasps when she looks up, “I need to be inside you. Need you to ride me until you come.”

His words make her whole body pulse with want, the rush settling right between her thighs where she yearns for him. She releases him with an obscene _pop_ and clambers to her feet. It takes a few heated seconds, even with both of them working, to shift her skirts up high enough to expose her wet core so that she can settle on his lap once more and sink down upon him.

Their combined sighs mingle in the air between them before Killian leans forward to claim Emma’s lips in a fierce kiss. She throws her arms around his shoulders and meets him halfway, their tongues brushing and caressing. She begins to move once more, using her leverage on his shoulders to help her.

Killian’s hand remains at her hip, helping her pick up her pace so that she’s pushing herself down on him with as much force as she can muster. She breaks away from his lips to breathe, her forehead falling to his neck, but as soon as his mouth is freed, he fills the silence with his voice.

“Gods, Emma, so good, love. Feel so hot and wet around my cock. You love this, having my cock spread you wide open. My wanton princess. I’m so lucky.”

His words make her shudder and her walls flutter around him at their dirty potency.

“You love it when I talk, too,” he adds with a groan. His words are growing breathier and more strained with each passing moment. “Love hearing everything I’m doing to you, everything I want to do to you. Don’t you love it, sweetheart? Tell me,” he encourages.

It’s too much. “Fuck,” she says, lifting her head and placing her forehead against his. It’s an effort to keep her head still as her lower body moves them vigorously towards climax, but she manages. “I love it. I love you--” The rest of whatever she was going to say is choked off when his hook delves beneath her skirt. “Gods, please,” she begs. She doesn’t care what she sounds like, she just needs to _come_. “Please touch me.”

“Want my hook on your clit?” he asks, and she groans, so loud she’d be worried about others hearing if they were nearby. She throws her head back, relishing in the sensation of his cock stretching her in the best way, the feeling of his hook gliding over her folds but not yet between them.

“Yes,” she hisses.

He does exactly as she asked, the curve of his hook flicking over the bud of her clit with enough force to send shocks up to her chest and down her legs. “Fuck,” he replies when she clenches around him. “Look at me, Emma. I want to see your eyes, love.”

She tilts her head forward again and the intensity of his stare sends a thrill through her. “So close,” she tells him. Her thighs are burning and she feels nearly soaked through with sweat, but there is no way she can stop now. She’s almost there, higher than she was before the interruption, and she’s staring over this abyss that she just needs him to push her over.

“Let go, my love. Let me feel you come around me. When you dance at this ball, I want you to feel all that wetness still between your thighs, I want you to feel my come sliding down your leg and I want you to remember the exact moment you fell and I was there to catch you. Come for me, my love.”

Just a few more strokes and she’s right there, his words setting her on fire almost as much as his cock and hook. Her wordless sound is muffled into his chest as she curls forward, her hands coming to clutch at his lapels. His hand on her hip curls around her lower back, and he presses her even closer. There’s an air of desperation about the way he hugs her close to him and buries his face in her hair, and it causes love to burst in her chest as surely as he pushed her to climax not moments ago. Even through their layers of clothing, she can feel his heartbeat echoing her own. His hook is gone from her clit, but it doesn’t matter. Their new closeness affords him the ability to push her clit against his pubic bone with each of his now desperate thrusts upwards. She holds onto him tightly as he sends her further into blissful oblivion with each quick thrust of his own hips. It’s almost too much, just shy of becoming overwhelming, but he’s coaxed her into a sweet spot, a perfect nirvana that she can only bask in with helpless moans and whimpers. She knows that he enjoys every single one of the sounds that come out of her as she rides it out.

Emma feels the moment he comes, his groan ungodly and beautiful against her hair, as his seed bathes her inner walls. They both limply thrust against each other, prolonging each other’s taste of heaven until they begin to float back down to the palace once more.

They don’t say anything for several minutes, basking in their closeness. The only time she had shifted was to release his lapels and copy him--putting her arms around him and squeezing him even closer to her.

It’s Killian who breaks the silence. “Your father will be expecting you shortly.”

She sighs. “I know.”

Emma can feel him growing soft inside of her, and their combined fluids are leaking out of her and onto him in quite the mess that she _should_ want to clean up. But his words from their coupling stick with her.  _When you dance at this ball, I want you to feel all that wetness still between your thighs, I want you to feel my come sliding down your leg and I want you to remember the exact moment you fell and I was there to catch you._ When she pulls off of him, it’s not just the sensitivity that makes her shiver.

She walks--on rather shaky legs--to her vanity where a bowl of warm water and a soft, cambresine cloth remain from her ball preparations. She dips the linen into the dish and wrings it out before bringing it back over to him. He kisses her fingers before he takes it and cleans himself rather quickly.

“Would you like me to clean you as well?” he asks quietly.

She cocks her head. “But you said you wanted me to feel everything we did while I was dancing.”

He stands so that they can once more see eye to eye. “Aye, I like the thought of it, but I’d never wish to put an expectation upon you that would make you uncomfortable.”

Another burst of love pounds behind her breastbone. She grins at him coyly. “My pirate, the gentleman.” She chuckles. “It would seem I’m kinky enough for the both of us.” 

That makes him laugh. “Oh, darling, I don’t think we need to compete on that charge.”

She leans forward and gives him a quick peck. She doesn’t lean back very far when she tells him, “I like it. I like remembering exactly what we did. In explicit detail.”

He grins. “Were I not so sated, I’d be tempted to have you again.”

Emma _mm_ s at that. “I think I’d need a bit, too.”

Killian sighs, his face falling just a bit as he reminds her, “You must be off. Your father will be waiting for you, and I know we’ve surpassed the few minutes he promised you.”

She tries to not let her mood sour too much. “I will see you after?” she asks.

He nods. “Of course. I’ll be waiting for you on my ship. Save me a dance?”

“Of course,” she answers. When she leans forward to kiss him one last time, she has to hold back her emotion. No matter how many times they part, it never gets any easier.

“See you soon, my princess,” he says when she finally finds the inner strength to step away from him.

“I will be counting the minutes until I see you again, my pirate,” she replies.

Then she turns and doesn’t look back, because she'd rather not test her already weak resolve.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on tumblr if you feel so inspired @slow-smiles


End file.
